Grieving Process
by wildemoon
Summary: Scott is killed on a mission, Jean must deal with her grief and Logan his guilt. GEN, DARKFIC


Author: Elizabeth Wilde

Title: "Grieving Process"

Series: none

Distribution: Anyone who has my fic, anyone who asks nicely for it, my site

Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men, unfortunately. I'd really love to own Scott. But for now I'm just borrowing them, so don't sue

'Ship: none (mention of Scott/Jean)

Classification: MAJOR angst

Summary: When Scott is killed on a mission, Jean must deal with her grief and Logan his guilt.

Rating: R

Spoilers: the movie

Notes: This story was inspired by the death of a teacher I saw as something of a second mother. I needed to do something to get what I felt out, and so I ended up weaving it into bits and pieces of the story.

"What is it?" Professor Xavier's brow furrowed and his eyes shone with concern.

Jean opened her mouth to answer and realized she couldn't speak. All that came out was a choked sob. She sank to her knees. "Oh, God..." She felt Xavier's hand on her back, could hear him speaking, but it was lost in the sudden, blinding clarity of the moment. "Oh, God."

"Jean?" Suddenly he knew what she knew. His mouth went dry and he felt the beginning of tears. "Jean, I'm sorry."

Her head moved back and forth as though denying the truth would make it disappear. Again, she felt Xavier's hand, wordlessly holding her shoulder in sympathy. For reasons she herself didn't understand, she pulled away and rose, running from his office without a glance back. She ran without reason or direction, ending up in the infirmary. For a wild moment, Jean stood alone, heart pounding its denial, mind railing against what she knew. She staggered almost over to her desk before sinking again to the floor and drawing her knees in tight to her chest, head back against a desk drawer.

Tears fell down her face quietly, shoulders shaking. Jean had no idea how long she sat that way, how long Logan had been sitting beside her before she looked at him, how she had known every word he was going to say before he spoke. For what seemed like hours, she simply stared at him, unable to speak or move yet again. It felt unreal. A nightmare. "What..." the

question died on her lips before she could even finish it.

Logan looked away, then down at his hands. He raised one to hand Jean the visor he clutched in it. "I figured... here."

She took the visor silently, staring at it as if she'd never seen it before. "Where..."

"Don't worry about it right now, alright?" Logan's voice was hoarse and quiet as if he were fighting the tears Jean let slide so easily down her face. "We were goin' out to check that warehouse, the one Chuck said people were talking about, sayin' there was some weird bigfoot guy livin' in." As he spoke, Logan saw the images running through his mind: a wooded grove beside a modest warehouse, boarded up and obviously long-defunct. He could see Scott walking ahead, looking cautiously around them as they approached. Logan had relied on scent, annoyed that the wind would carry away any trace of someone hiding downwind in the grove. "I told him to walk behind, but he didn't. Didn't seem like a big deal to me, so I didn't push it.

"I should have." His fists clenched and unclenched. Looking down, Logan could still see the imprint of the visor on his right hand. He hadn't realized how tightly he'd been holding it. "I should've made him stay behind. Maybe I should've just gone in alone." Logan could see Sabretooth appearing, it seemed, out of nowhere, saw Scott fall from the top of the hill. He could hear his own ragged breathing as he charged down the slope to help. He had wondered why the little prick hadn't just used his damn visor and blown Sabretooth to hell. Then he saw the visor lying on the ground nearby and Scott's eyes squeezed tight. Logan realized that the only reason Scott was keeping them closed was so he didn't get fried. "Sabretooth showed up, got the jump on him. He lost his visor. Didn't open his eyes because he didn't want me to get hurt.

"I got there, I pushed Sabretooth back and we fought. I just didn't think..." his voice trailed off. He had left Scott where he was and thrown Sabretooth back against the nearest tree. Claws out, Logan had begun tearing flesh with everything he had. Sabretooth got his fair share of punch and gashes in, but it never did more than make Logan a little angrier, a little more determined to win. After what felt like forever, Sabretooth slumped to the ground. When

Logan took the time to look, he realized he'd taken out most of his opponent's chest and throat. "I won. I killed the son of a bitch.

"I went back then, back to the warehouse. If I'd gotten there... Nevermind." In his mind's eyes Logan could see perfectly Scott's body lying in the grass. He had known the moment he saw him that there wasn't anything anybody could do. Logan had approached slowly. He could see the blood seeping into the earth before he came within a few yards. What had really shaken him was seeing Scott's eyes staring up into nothing. Blue eyes. There was blood everywhere and not much but shreds left of the heavy leather X-suit from the waist up. Most of the wounds were minor if bloody, but the jagged, seeping tear across Scott's throat had been mortal. "There wasn't anything I could do but carry him off."

"Where is he, Logan?" Jean demanded quietly, eyes shining with unshed tears, undimmed by the ones already escaping down her cheeks. "Where's Scott?"

"No." Logan shook his head. "You don't to." He saw her hand reaching for him and pushed it firmly away. "I'm not lettin' you see. Keep the memories you have. I don't want these, and you sure as hell don't."

She let her weight fall back against the desk. When she finally did turn her dark eyes back to Logan, she took in everything: his haggard expression, the tears in his clothes, and the blood. Blood everywhere. There was blood on his clothing, his face. And Jean knew it wasn't all his. Or Sabretooth's. "Logan, please." Despite the tears slowly tearing away her voice, Jean pressed forward. "Please, I need to know. I have to know."

She watched his shoulders slump and his entire form seem to sag in resignation. "Go ahead. It's all right there. I couldn't push it back if I wanted to."

Jean raised her hands slowly to Logan's face, each one barely grazing his cheeks. Forcing back the fear that swept over her, she plunged into his mind, shocked at how quickly the images she sought came. She watched the scene unfold, mental field of vision unobscured by the tears that fell heedlessly from her eyes. Finally her hands fell and she began shaking, at first a slight tremble in her hands, then a more pronounced tremor through her frame.

Logan's arms surrounded her, almost crushing her against him. He was whispering things like Xavier had earlier, words of comfort or sorrow. She couldn't tell the difference. Jean finally relaxed against him, the tremors easing, giving way to wracking sobs once more. The images she had taken from Logan's mind burned in front of her. Jean found it impossible to pretend it away, to dream it was all some sick joke. She had seen for herself. She had stood with Logan looking down at her husband's corpse. "I should go to the Professor."

Logan's arms seemed to tighten their hold. "You've got enough to deal with and so does he."

"He needs someone. He-"

"You need someone." She felt Logan sigh against her hair. "Now's not the time to try to be strong for him, okay? You both need time to fall apart. Neither one of you'll get anywhere otherwise."

He sounded so certain that Jean lost the will to protest. She hadn't really wanted to go. She felt she should. All she wanted was to sit in the infirmary and cry. It surprised her to find that she was clinging to Logan as tightly as he was to her. They both needed something to anchor them to reality. "Why does it feel like I'm going to wake up?"

"I dunno," Logan replied, almost too softly for Jean to hear. "I wish we could, though. Wish we could change the whole damn thing." She nodded against his chest. "We can't, though. Neither one of us. No matter how much we want to."

"I know."

He sighed again. "Then convince me."

When Logan awoke, it took several seconds before he remembered where he was. And why. At some point, Jean had ended up curled in his lap, her head on his shoulder. Even sleeping, she looked tired. He sighed and tried to keep his breathing even. There was no sense in waking Jean up to watch him think.

All Logan had been able to do since the previous afternoon was think. Even in sleep, he thought. For once, the nightmares weren't full of fuzzy images of surgeons and operations and frightening screams. Instead they were of the deathly quiet of the clearing and of Scott's body. Logan fought the images now. He knew Jean would feel his turbulent emotions, and she didn't need them.

"We're awake," Jean's voice whispered.

"Yeah. We are."

"It didn't help."

Logan took a deep breath and rubbed her shoulder. "No, didn't help."

"I'm going to go and shower. I need to change clothes." Her voice was steady enough that Logan could feel how tense she was beneath it. "I need to see the Professor."

Unsure what to do, Logan asked, "Want me to go with you? When you go see him?"

"No. I need to go." She rose and then waited until he had as well. "Logan?"

"Yeah?" Hazel eyes watched her with preternatural scrutiny.

"Thank you."

"God, Jean, don't." Logan's voice almost failed as he looked down to the floor. "Don't thank me." Eyes still held low, he could see Scott's visor clutched in her hand. "Don't." Without another word, Jean turned and walked out of the infirmary, back straight, clothes and hair disheveled from the day before. As soon as she left, Logan sat carefully down in her desk chairand buried his face in his hands.

"Professor?" Jean watched as his head dropped for a moment. Then his shoulders squared and he turned to face the doorway where she hovered. "I thought..."

"Yes. Sit down."

She could see the same circles under his eyes, the same pallor over his skin that she had seen in her own when she showered. The water hadn't washed the hurt away like she wanted. In fact,it hadn't changed anything, hadn't even eased her aching back muscles or relieved the tension in her shoulders. Jean sat in a chair opposite the Professor. "It isn't fair."

"No, it isn't." His hands trembled as they rested on the desk's polished surface. "But it has happened, and we must accept that."

Jean flinched as if struck. "I know." She shivered, remembering that when she finished talking to Xavier, she would need to go back to her room. To their room. "Everyone knows?"

"Yes. I announced it. Storm helped me. I..." he spread his hands and sighed.

"I know." She suddenly felt thankful that all she had needed to do was sleep, that she hadn't had to tell anyone or speak to anyone but Logan. That had been more than hard enough. "I should have helped."

"No. You couldn't have done it for the same reason I couldn't have without Storm."

Jean sighed and nodded her agreement. "You're right."

His gaze remained steady as he said, "You can't avoid it forever."

Their room. "I know." Gripping the arms of the chair as she stood, Jean managed a smile so forced it felt as if her face would crack. "Wish me luck." Somehow the silence she received instead was infinitely more appropriate.

Everything lay perfectly in place. It looked as if Scott might walk in at any moment, might sit down at the desk and go over the lesson plans spread across it's polished surface, might joke about him caring more about the students' grades than they did. Jean stifled a sob. She gently lay the visor in her hands on the dresser. Scott's glasses were still there, and she stared for an eternal moment. She had never seen them both on the dresser at the same time.

Jean impulsively grabbed the glasses and slid them into the top drawer, out of sight. That eased the pain a little, made things seem a bit more normal.

Deciding that rest would help after the fitful, nightmarish evening before, Jean lay down on the bed, comforter still pulled up. Something underneath made her head fall at an odd angle, so she reached in and pulled out the offending material, eyes misting when she realized it was Scott's pajamas, a white shirt and blue pants as always. Hugging them to her chest, Jean let the tears fall. She was alone. No one needed her strength.

Jean still gripped the pajamas when a knock on the door woke her a couple hours later. "Wh-who is it?" she called, rising and wiping at her eyes, long since dry.

"Logan."

She bit her lip. "Come in."

He looked even less personable than usual, shoulders tense and eyes bloodshot. "I just wanted to check on you," he explained, hovering in the doorway as if afraid to step inside.

"Come in," Jean repeated.

He complied, shutting the door and moving to stand in front of Jean. "I woke you."

"It's okay. I was having a nightmare anyway." A tremor passed over her body and Jean held the rumpled clothes a little tighter. "I wanted to wake up."

Logan nodded. "Did it help?"

A short, weak laugh escaped her. "No. Not really." She moved over and patted the bed. "Sit."

Again, he followed her direction, looking no more comfortable sitting than he had standing. "Not lookin' forward to sleep much myself."

Jean's eyes were focused on something Logan couldn't see, slightly dazed and glassy. "Does it ever get better?"

"I... I dunno." He thought in silence. "It has to. Can't stay this way. People can't live like this."

She shook her head, then looked down, hair falling in auburn waves to hide her face. "No, we can't."

A soft sob came from beneath the wall of hair, and Logan put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close like he had the night before. "You're gonna get through this. Scott wouldn't want you to give up." He could feel her head move, though whether it was in agreement or not, Logan couldn't be sure. "It's gonna be okay, Jean."

"When?" her voice was painfully soft and broken.

"I wish I knew." Unable to do or say anything else, Logan simply held Jean while she cried.


End file.
